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<title>But I know that you would like me by quietwandering</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048120">But I know that you would like me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering'>quietwandering</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unlovable [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Morrissey (Musician) - Fandom, The Smiths</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:28:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If only you could see me</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Marr/Morrissey, Morrissey/Andy Rourke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unlovable [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But I know that you would like me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a short Moz/Andy piece that's been on my mind. I'm forever thinking about the 'Andy has Potential' tag because of RockinginaParallelUniverse. </p><p>Note that Johnny/Moz are only referenced/implied in this piece. </p><p>Title is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qD5ZJBfObr4">Unlovable</a> by The Smiths</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The flight had been awful. All those hours wasted just to arrive at a seedy hotel in a rundown part of Who Gave a Fuck, USA, so we could play a gig to a bunch of people who thought English folk were <em>quaint</em>. I missed home, I missed my bed -- I loved The Smiths and the music we made, but I often wished we could just perpetually live in the studio, writing songs and making records for no one but ourselves.</p><p>As expected, I was shaky from a few days of withdrawal due to all the travel so I took a few bumps as I was getting ready for bed. Johnny had suggested we go out to a pub, get pissed and forget about how miserable we felt, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being around that many people. I just wanted to hide away for a little while, play my bass and veg out.</p><p>The high sent me into a blissful state of mind right away, and for the first time in a long while I found myself able to drift off under the scratchy hotel blankets into a nice, peaceful sleep. No dreams, no nightmares. Just<em> sleep </em> that kept me far away from all the anxiety and self-doubt that plagued me, day in, day out. I felt safe when I was unconscious, and that, I imagined, was what kept me coming back to heroin time and again. </p><p>I was woken up by an aggressive knock at the door, and I panicked at the thought I’d slept past the courtesy call from the front desk -- the one that told us cheerily to get the fuck up and get ready to head out. Johnny used to be the band's daily alarm clock, but he’d gotten tired of it after a few years. I didn’t really blame him, but I did sometimes miss opening the door and seeing his smiling face. It was a nice way to start the day.</p><p>Groggy, I glanced at the clock and saw it was actually half past three in the morning - nowhere near when we were meant to wake up. I tiredly rubbed at my eyes, confused, and flinched when the door was banged on again. “Andy? Andy, are you up?” </p><p>“Bloody am now,” I muttered. It was Morrissey. I wasn’t surprised. Of course he’d need his fix after such a terrible day, and he was too shy to ask Johnny for something so <em> shameful</em>. “Hold on, hold on. I said <em> hold on</em>!” </p><p>I grabbed the bag of Valium from my nightstand and stumbled over, swinging the door open. Morrissey was there in his bathrobe, glasses askew with his hair all over the place, and I shoved the pills at him. “Can I come in?” </p><p>For a long while I was silent, not really registering the question. Once Morrissey had the Valium in hand, I was usually forgotten about til he ran out and needed me to go get more. “Um, yeah. Sure,” I said, shuffling back from the door awkwardly. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” </p><p>Without a word, Morrissey walked to my bed and sat down, turning on the bedside lamp. I looked at the bag of pills in my hand for a while, confused, before I remembered to shut the door, turning the deadbolt back into place. “May I have a glass of water? I don’t need any ice,” Morrissey whispered, fiddling with his robe.</p><p>Yes, well. I didn’t have any ice <em> anyways </em> so thank god for that, I thought. I went into the bathroom to get the paper cup by the sink and filled it up, purposefully not looking at myself in the mirror. “So, are you okay, Mozzer?” I asked as I walked back out, handing him both the water and the bag of Valium. That seemed to have been too loaded a question for him though, and I watched as tears welled up in his eyes. </p><p>I sat down next to him and rubbed his shoulders comfortingly, hugging him. He sank down into my lap after a moment and clutched at my shirt, soaking it with his tears. It didn't seem like he was slowing down either. Uncertain of how else to make him feel better, I shook a Valium out of the bag still on his lap and put it to his lips, nudging a little to get him to open up. He swallowed it down dry. </p><p>The sobs finally subsided after a few minutes, and I convinced him to take a drink or two of his water. “Hold on just a sec,” I said, tone gentle and reassuring. After another brief squeeze of his shoulder, I went into the bathroom and ran a rag under some warm water. I also grabbed the box of tissues and came back in to see Morrissey had cocooned himself into the blankets. His glasses were on the nightstand now, and his bathrobe was discarded on the floor. “Here, this should help a little, huh?” </p><p>Morrissey gave me a weak nod in reply, and I cleaned him up as best I could, wiping off the snot and the tear stains. “Thank you,” he whispered, his red, bleary eyes staring up at me gratefully. His voice was scratchy and dry, exhausted. He propped himself up on his elbow and reached for his water, and I helped hold the cup for him, tending to him as gingerly as I would a baby bird.</p><p>Once he was settled back into bed, I laid down beside him and wrapped him tightly in my arms, soothing him. “Anything in particular on your mind then?” I asked. He burrowed himself into my chest, breathing slow and deep. The calming effects of the Valium had kicked in. “It’s been a rough few days I know.” </p><p>“I don’t want to be here,” Morrissey said. I nodded and rubbed small circles into his back. “I don’t like America. I don’t like anywhere but home. Johnny’s so excited though -- he keeps saying he loves it, but I hate it. He won’t listen. He says I’m being unreasonable.” </p><p>That probably wasn’t far from the truth, but I didn’t mention it. I just pressed my face down into his hair and closed my eyes. “I don’t like it here, either, but it's just a few weeks, right? We'll be back in rainy old Manchester soon enough.” </p><p>Morrissey’s arms crept around me and absently pulled at the back of my shirt, lost in thought as always. “Another dreadful flight back across the ocean,” he muttered. I hummed in agreement. “God awful food that reeks of death, miserable people. A bleak view of the clouds for hours and hours.” </p><p>I held back a laugh at his theatrics. “Mm, lotsa cute lasses to serve you drinks though, huh?” I said, grinning at him. Morrissey made a disgruntled noise, entirely unimpressed. “And I’ve heard the toilets are meant to be a great place to shag.” </p><p>“<em>Ugh</em>,” Morrissey said, shivering in disgust. “They’ll have to take me home by boat now.” </p><p>“Might be a nice holiday, y’never know,” I mused, smiling when he broke into a soft giggle. “Sunbathe with a few sailors, learn to swab a deck.” </p><p>“Our next record must now be entirely nautical in theme...or a concept album about the works of Herman Melville,” Morrissey said with a conspiratorial tone, and I suddenly realized his fingertips were purposefully drawing up and down my spine. “Andy -” </p><p>I didn’t wait for him to ask. I couldn’t. I’d have lost my nerve. I pushed our lips together and tried not to be too rough with him even if he wasn't the shy, virginal boy I'd met in 1982. I'd seen him snogging Johnny plenty of times now, I wasn't blind - they'd be hidden away at the back of a pub or making out noisily in the tour bus bunks when they thought no one was awake.</p><p>I was never envious or upset by it. Johnny was plenty beautiful, we'd shared a few secret kisses of our own when we were younger, but Morrissey - god, he was ethereal, angelic almost. I couldn’t be more thankful for my bass when he was ripping his clothes off on stage, moaning into the mic as if in the throes of ecstasy. I couldn’t blame our fans for rushing the stage just to touch him. I understood entirely. </p><p>His tongue began to push insistently at my lips, and I opened for him, let him taste me, before I tangled my own around it. There was a little clumsiness as we got to know one another -- I wasn’t nearly as skilled as Johnny in this regard -- but soon we had a back and forth rhythm that seemed to excite us both. </p><p>I felt his hand slip under my shirt, felt his nails scratch against my back, and my hips instinctively bucked against his stomach, eager for his touch. This wouldn’t last too long. We were both tired and at least a little high on our substances of choice. I was just glad to be held by someone I admired, really. Romance and seduction could wait.</p><p>We rocked together for a while, only shifting when we had to get our pajamas pushed down, and I sucked bruises into his neck. I wondered if Johnny would see them, if he’d ask about them - if Morrissey would admit to this having happened. I wasn’t sure why that turned me on so much, but I <em>wanted</em> Johnny to find out. The very idea of Johnny confronting me about this made my cock twitch.</p><p>Morrissey sighed and trembled, and I felt his come soak into my shirt. I realized it was still wet with his tears and tugged it off, moaning when he licked at my chest. The cool saliva on my overheated skin made me shiver with arousal, and I reached down to touch myself, mostly rubbing at the tip of my cock. </p><p>Once I finished, I wiped the mess off onto my crumbled shirt (it’d probably just need to be thrown out at this point, honestly), and Morrissey got the blankets pulled up around us again, blue eyes sparkling at me in satisfaction. I was proud to have been the cause of it. “We need to sleep,” Morrissey whispered, tangling our legs together. “We’ve got to be up soon.” </p><p>I nodded and pressed a kiss into his hair. “G'night then, Moz...sweet dreams.” </p>
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